


the one where Vecchio owns a restaurant and Turnbull is his executive chef

by exbex



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 18:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10342404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exbex/pseuds/exbex
Summary: Man, I wrote most of this years ago. Recently I decided to retrieve it from the abandoned WIP pile. It feels unpolished, but I enjoy it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Man, I wrote most of this years ago. Recently I decided to retrieve it from the abandoned WIP pile. It feels unpolished, but I enjoy it.

Renfield nearly destroys a sauce that can be nothing short of poetic, all at the sight of those eyes and those hands.

The man in the uniform is a familiar sight, Constable Fraser, Turnbull family friend and Ray’s partner, but the mouth-watering sight with him is new to Renfield.

Ray chooses that moment to make his rounds through the kitchen, grabbing a spoon and tasting the sauce. “Needs more garlic.”

Renfield takes the garlic and pretends that he’s going to add some to the sauce. “Ray, who is that, sitting out there with Benton?”

Ray frowns, then pivots to return to the kitchen doors and peer out into the dining room. Renfield puts the unopened garlic back. Ray returns with a clean spoon, and takes a taste. “Perfect. Guy is Ray Kowalski, Benny’s new partner. Well, new three months ago. Where have you been? I’d say you work too much, but this place would probably fall apart if you actually listened to me and took a little time off.”

Renfield passes the sauce on to one of the sous chefs. “Ray, if you value me as much as to claim to, you will investigate Ray Kowalski further.”

Ray grins. “Anything for the man who introduced me to one of national treasures of Canada.”

**

Ray is whistling and smirking the next afternoon, which means that he’s in a good mood, but this is not unusual, since Ray has been running a successful restaurant since retiring from the CPD and Ray is also in love. Renfield himself prefers cooking to business, but wouldn’t mind emulating being in love.

“Renny, you may be the second luckiest man in Chicago. Last night I learned a few choice things about one Ray Kowalski: a) single and finally getting over his year-old divorce. b) fiercely loyal, c) bisexual. You’re very welcome. I suggest that you send him some of your tiramisu, on the house, the next time he comes in.”

“Do you think that will work Ray?”

“Renny, I’ve tasted your tiramisu. I’ve also seen you naked. Once Kowalski gets a taste he’ll be begging to lick it off of every inch of your body.”

“That’s very kind of you, Ray.”

“What is? Ogling your ass every time we’re at the gym in a strictly admirational way because I love my boyfriend, or giving away your tiramisu, the tiramisu I could and probably should charge much more for because it’s so good that people would pay almost anything for it?”

“Both, Ray.” Renfield sighs.

Ray raises an eyebrow. “Wow, you’ve got it bad.”

**

Renfield rarely lets the sous chefs touch the tiramisu, and he spends an extra seven minutes on the plate that is destined for one Ray Kowalski. When he finally deems it to be acceptable, he sends it out but he’s too nervous to take a peek to gauge Ray’s reaction. He can only go back to his station and fret. Has he crafted an unrealistic fantasy about this Ray Kowalski? It’s completely unlike him to flirt like this. Well, it’s completely unlike him to flirt at all. If he’s feared in the past that people find him strange, surely the obscure object of his infatuation will find flirtation via tiramisu to be incredibly bizarre. 

Lest he begin to hyperventilate over eggplant parmesan, Renfield tries to distract himself. Unfortunately, distracting thoughts come in the   
form of visions of Ray Kowalski losing himself in the enjoyment of tiramisu, chocolate running tantalizingly down his chin….

Renfield is saved by the boisterous presence of Ray Vecchio, who breezes into the kitchen with a self-satisfied expression. “You can thank me later, Renny. I slipped Kowalski your phone number while I chatted him up out there.”

Renfield splutters. “What? Ray…”

“Like I said, you can thank me later. Oh don’t give me that look. Did you really think I was going to give away tiramisu without pushing things in the right direction? Carpe the hell out of the diem, Renny.”

**

Renfield partly follows Ray’s advice and leaves the restaurant before the dinner rush, choosing to surreptitiously seek out Benton’s counsel. 

Benton is as in love as Ray, but is less rash and more likely to offer Renfield advice that can be taken at less than breakneck speed. He patiently allows Renfield to voice every one of his worries, sitting at his kitchen table with a cup of tea as Renfield chops vegetables and carefully prepares a simple soup. Even outside of the restaurant, cooking has a calming effect.

“You can’t mince words here Benton. Am I potentially making a mistake?”

“My advice to you is the same as it would be to anyone, Ren. Proceed carefully, but take heart; you won’t know if things will work out unless you take the risk.” 

Renfield nods, and once the soup is simmering, he turns to face Benton, frowning as he sees Benton engaging in one of his tells.

“You’re doing the eyebrow thing. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Well, Ren, I’ll be plain. You seem to believe that you’re risking a great deal by pursuing this attraction, but, and this isn’t obvious to those who don’t know Ray very well, he risks a great deal by offering up his heart, if you will. He’s a resilient sort, and can come off as prickly, but he needs someone who’ll recognize his fragility and be careful with him. Frankly, it’s one reason that I can see the two of you as a potentially good match.”

**

It’s a week before Renfield has the opportunity to see if Benton’s assessment and Ray’s optimism have a chance of panning out. He has nearly written the idea off when he receives an unexpected telephone call late in the evening. Renfield goes from being too tired to think to being wide awake and nervous within the first six seconds of the phone call. He has to focus on the sound of Ray's voice, try to decipher if he's chewing gum, in order to keep himself calm. Ray, for his part, sounds as if he's doing nothing more harrowing than ordering takeout.

“It won’t be Chef Turnbull standards or anything, but they make great sandwiches, comfort food, y’know?”

Renfield has to switch his focus and attempt to answer Ray intelligibly. “Yes. That sounds good.” He can only hope that he sounds collected and casual.

**

“So, what brought you to Chicago. I know you and Frase know each other from way back, but what made you want to come here?”

The entire lunch hour thus far has left Renfield in the semi light-headed manner that one gets after a moment of incredible relief. He and Ray had met at the sandwich shop and began with handshakes and casual conversation about the weather and Chicago traffic and public transportation. Small talk is usually fairly excruciating for Renfield; he’s not good at filling up silences, but Ray has managed to put conversation into motion without dominating it. The first few minutes after receiving their orders had been spent chewing, and Renfield has fallen into that comfortable place of evaluating food and food-serving spaces. The restaurant itself has a perfect Chicago atmosphere, and the food is satisfying, exactly the kind of comfort food that Ray had mentioned. Ray’s question pulls Renfield out of his reverie, but gently, an easy one to answer.

“When Ray Vecchio was starting the restaurant, Benton recommended me to Ray and vice versa. I came down from Ottawa to cook for Ray, and he liked my food, so…well, here we are.”

Ray has a smile, a kind of knowing smile that makes Renfield’s stomach flutter. “Fraser tells me you were already kind of making a name for yourself up in Canada.”

Renfield can’t help the blush creeping up his neck. “Well, that’s an exaggeration. I had good marks at culinary school and I’d been promoted quickly, but that was Ottawa. If Ray hadn’t been willing to take a chance, I wouldn’t be cooking in a city of this size, with the kind of competition among chefs that there is.”

“You really love it.” It’s not a question. There’s still a playfulness, a curiosity in Ray’s eyes, but also something more searching.

“I do. There’s a simplicity to cooking, maybe not the actual skill involved, but the…idea of it, if you will. People will either like your food or they won’t. It’s a simple need to fulfill, but an important one.”

Ray sits back in his seat, stretches his arms above his head casually, but his gaze never leaves Renfield. His expression seems to be satisfied, as if he’s been searching for something and he’s found it. “I get that,” he finally says. “Uncomplicated. Looks like you and me have something in common.”

**

“Now the way I see it, we’ve got a perfect meal here. Your Racy Turkey alongside the best pizza this side of Chicago, and your tiramisu for dessert.”

“Ratatouille, Ray,” Renfield corrects, but he can’t keep the smile from his face. They speak the same language, really. Every time Ray comes into the restaurant, he asks for Renfield’s recommendations, and every time they have a date, Ray feeds him the best of Chicago. Renfield doesn’t care if it’s street vendor hot dogs or filet mignon, Ray’s favorites from Chinatown or a glass of Olde Style alongside a lopsided burger and greasy fries, as long as it’s offered with thoughtfulness.

No, Renfield is no food snob, not really. He does blanche just a bit at Ray’s choice of pineapple on pizza, but he forgets to raise his eyebrows as he watches Ray take a bite and give a moan that must be exaggerated for Renfield’s benefit, given the smirk that Ray dons as Renfield feels his face heat up.

**

Renfield knocks firmly, three times, loudly enough to be heard over the music that’s coming from Ray’s apartment. When Ray opens the door, Renfield wants to roll his eyes, not at Ray, but at himself, because he’s turned into a teenager at the sight of Ray, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, both well-worn and soft, but still hugging the planes of Ray’s body perfectly. Really though, it’s the dancing that has Renfield’s heart making its presence known, the way Ray is confidently sashaying about with a wooden spoon in hand. 

“Renny, are you ready for the hottest thing this side of Lake Michigan?” Ray calls as he leads the way to the kitchen

Renfield isn’t sure if he’ll survive the evening, then deciphers that Ray is talking about whatever he’s stirring on the stove. “Is that-?”

“Five alarm chili,” Ray answers. “Twice baked potatoes in the oven.”

In spite of the name, the chili is pleasant to the tongue and the palate, paired nicely with perfectly cooked potatoes. Uncomplicated, but interesting, with enough flavors to keep Renfield guessing, much like Ray himself. And restrained, Renfield will think later; intriguing but restrained.

It’s over the sink that Renfield starts to lose his own restraint, as he rinses the dishes, watching Ray scrub away at the empty pot, the sleeves of his t-shirt riding up so that his biceps are straining with just a little effort.

It’s not their first kiss, but it’s the first one that doesn’t taste like mint toothpaste or coffee and chocolate. There’s too much beer and spice, really. 

It’s perfect.


End file.
